


A Stutter in REM Cycle

by Synxailla



Category: Inception (2010), Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Syndicate, dream-sharing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-12 13:08:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1186670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synxailla/pseuds/Synxailla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is an independent extractor looking for a way out of the underground dream-share business. But then he's faced with a job offer he can't refuse... The only thing that drives him is knowing that this job could very well be his last in the business. He starts looking for new dreamers to work with and finds Castiel...among other things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Job Offer

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This is a crossover fanfiction between Supernatural and the movie Inception. Standard disclaimers apply. There will be some mentions of the characters from Inception, but this will mostly focus on the Supernatural characters existing in the Inception universe. A kind of an Inception AU Supernatural story. :)

Chapter 0: The Job Offer

.

“Why me?” Dean asks, leaning into his seat and looking dead straight at the man seated behind the big-ass expensive-looking table, watching for any sign that it’s only through some fluke he’s here. “I’m not the only extractor in the business. I sure as hell ain’t the best.”

“Don’t be stupid,” the man replies and makes a sound like an evolved form of a derisive snort. “Of course you’re not the best. I didn’t ask for you because of your above-average skills in extraction, Dean.”

Dean barely reels in his urge to do something _actually_ stupid like snarl at the man not to call him by his first name like they’re some kind of friends. Most people who’ve met Dean say his survival instincts are shot to hell, but he wouldn’t have survived so long in the business if that’s really true. He knows when to soldier on and when to keep his head down.

And when you’re facing _the_ Michael Godson, widely known underground business and syndicate leader, in and out of the dream-share business, inside his penthouse office with armed guards just a wall away, and the man himself most probably having an arsenal inside his big-ass table or on his person, you know it’s time to bite your tongue and keep your head down.

Sammy wouldn’t forgive Dean if he allows his big mouth to get him killed.

Dean waits, jaw clenched, as Michael brushes non-existent lint from his dark suit. Michael’s ensemble of a dapper suit and tie is screaming of old money and power. Very different from the shirt, jacket, and days-old jeans combination Dean is wearing. The same clothes he was wearing an hour ago when a dozen of Michael’s armed thugs in suits cornered him on his way back from a deposit.

When Michael finally lifts his cold grey eyes to look back at Dean, he proceeds to still say nothing. Dean couldn’t help opening his mouth.

“So?” Dean says loudly and blows an exhale through his nose. “You just had me dragged here to silently brag the view of the dirty city from your high nest, _your majesty_?” so much for not snapping.

Michael’s eyes narrows in a way one does when faced with an annoying bug. Dean very carefully does not flinch and fights the irrational fear to look at anywhere but the man in front of him, because his Dad taught him never to take your eyes off threats.

And then Michael lets go of his glare and regards Dean with an unreadable neutral look.

“I’m offering you a job.” Michael says with a slight incline of his brunet head.

That had been Dean’s first guess as to why he’s here. But…

“Like I said, why me? You said it yourself I’m not the best. And from what I hear on the streets, you, Mr. Godson never settle for anything less.” Dean says, absently squaring his shoulders, trying to make himself appear bigger, less likely to be pushed into something he doesn’t want.

“I hate repeating myself Dean, so you’d do well to listen,” Michael says with a business-like tone that does nothing to belay the hurt he’s promising to deliver if he’s not heard. “You’re not the best extractor, no. But you _are_ one of the rare planters in dream-share.”

This time, Dean couldn’t quite keep his back from stiffening in a flinch. Michael smiles cruelly at him, knowing he’s caught Dean now.

_Shit._

“Oh? You didn’t think _I_ wouldn’t know about your newly-learned skill? Really, Dean? Do you believe there’s anything in the business I won’t eventually find out?” Michael asks with a tight smile.

Dean knows better than to deny it, but he can’t quite help himself from asking…

“How?” Dean breathes out. “I haven’t used it in any job I’ve taken.”

“I have insight on a lot more than people’s job contracts.” Michael answers with a waving gesture of his hand. As if knowing the personal lives of hundreds–maybe even thousands, of people is not a big deal for him.

Dean stills himself and takes in a breath. Fine. So the Big Bad Wolf of the dream-share world knows he’s also a planter. Apparently his plan to keep that fact secret is no match for Michael Godson. But now is not the time to panic over that. He can still try to get out of this.

“You want an inception.” Dean says when he feels he has most of himself calm again.

“Yes.” Michael says with a single nod, “Among other things.”

“You sure you want me to do it?” Dean asks with an eyebrow raised. “Because I’ve only done it a grand total of two times.”

“That’s still twice as much as anyone with halfway decent extracting skills and your level of field experience.” Michael says. “You see Dean, this job I’m offering you would need a particular set of skills.”

“You need a planter-slash-extractor?” Dean asks, and tries very hard not to sound intrigued.

“Yes.” Michael answers with a nod again, “Among other things.”

“Don’t you already have someone in your pocket for that? I hear things from people in the business, and they say you found yourself a good planter-slash-extractor; a real anal lady who signed exclusively with you.”

“Naomi is _anal-retentive_ ,” Michael answers with emphasis and Dean just shrugs and lets him continue, “and yes she’s under my exclusive employ, and yes she’s a very good planter-slash-extractor. I would even say she’s the best since Dominic Cobb walked this earth. I’ve seen the results of her work first-hand and I’m impressed.” He finishes off as if he just gave a universe-worth of compliment to this faceless Naomi.

“There you go.” Dean says and spreads his hands in gesture of _yah see?_ “You won’t need me, because I’m sure my methods would look like sloppy seconds next to hers.”

If Dean thought he ever had a chance of talking his way out of Michael’s interest, his hopes are dashed when he sees grey eyes regard him with the same cold stare.

“As much as Naomi is good at her craft,” Michael begins slowly, words said with deliberate care that warns Dean not to interrupt. “She’s a feather’s weight away from being absolutely useless in field-operations. She has no background in things like monitoring a target, making plans that align with the target’s usual routine, and subduing the target without anyone being the wiser, target included.”

Dean wants to roll his eyes. What kind of operative doesn’t know the basics surrounding a successful extraction job? There’s a reason point-men exists. You can’t do shit with just skill and no legwork, much less no research, Sammy always says… He holds his tongue though, because he doesn’t want Michael hearing his brother’s thoughts.

“Yes Naomi can dig around a target’s mind,” Michael continues, “and sift and mold and take from the target’s subconscious, but she has no merit in the process leading up to securing a target and the amount of subtle work it takes to get there… In so few words: she can’t operate if the target isn’t presented in front of her tied in a neat bow.”

“Just get your thugs to bring the target to her.” Dean snorts. “If she’s as good as you say, the target would never remember being mind-raped, and I’m sure being physically roughed up a bit during abduction can be wiped clearly from the memory too.”

“I told you not to be stupid Dean.” Michael says coldly and Dean is struck between being insulted and pissed. “If it were that easy you wouldn’t be here.”

“You know you talk a hell of a lot and still manage not to make a lick of sense.” Dean can’t help but snap, sitting on the edge of his seat and trying to keep his coiling muscles from springing and ineffectually trying to punch the lights out of that smug face. “You should get that checked out.”

Instead of taking the bait and raising his hackles though, Michael just looks mildly annoyed and a lot disgusted, which doesn’t help appease Dean’s temper.

“Just tell me why I’m here dammit!” Dean snarls and smacks down his closed fist on the big-ass wooden table. “What could the great Michael Godson probably need lil’ ol’ me for, huh? And if you say you’re above abducting your target to get into their mind, then I’m going to have a bucket of kittens.”

Because from their long-winded talk, all Dean understands is that Michael’s a boastful bastard that thinks he’s above everyone and makes very casual displays and mentions of his power every other breath. Yet he keeps on being adamant about Dean being essential to this…scheme.

“You’re right. I won’t hesitate about abducting–about doing _anything_ that’s needed to accomplish my goals. But this particular job needs a touch of traditional handling.” Michael answers neutrally, not fazed by Dean’s outburst. “That’s why you’re here. Because brute force won’t get this job done. I can’t just snap my fingers and have my employees deliver the target to me.”

Dean sees Michael lose focus for a moment and slip his eyes momentarily to the dark night sky out his tall windows. Dean very well manages to shoo the cat from his mind and take the curiosity with it, thank you.

“You see Dean, this person’s…special.” Michael continues with uncharacteristic pausing over his words. “I imagine his absence would stir unwanted uproar in the parts of the business I have…limited control over. If I or any of my people step in, they’d know almost instantly. And I can’t have that. The clean-up would be messy. And I just want to take him down with as little casualty on both sides as possible.”

That makes Dean pause. Is there really someone Michael Godson can’t all out strong-arm into obedience? Why? Because this person can fight back? Because this person has others to back him up willingly against _the_ Michael Godson? Huh.

“Who’s this guy you have beef with?” Dean asks, because damn cats and curiosity all-around.

Dean really expects not to receive a straight answer, but then again, he should know better than expect anything from this son of a bitch.

“Have you heard of the name Lucius Ashtrum?” Michael asks with all seriousness.

Yeah Dean has heard of that name, usually whispered in hushed tones or scoffed in incredulous voices. A name of a man lurking in the shadowy part of the dream-share world and said to be expanding his reach and doing new unspeakable things in minds of people that fall into his unfortunate notice. But that’s all he was, a name.

“He’s a myth.” Dean answers, “I’ve been working in the business for a long time and I haven’t seen a glimpse of him.”

Michael shakes his head almost sadly.

“He’s real, I assure you. And I can hazard a guess that most of the unspeakable rumors about him are real too. But his name isn’t.” He says, and slips his gaze again to the window, looking at something hidden in the void of the dark sky “His real name is Lucifer Godson.”

Dean frowns at that. Who names their kid after the devil? And then his mind catches up to what Michael said and he feels his eyes widening in surprise. Lucifer _Godson_?

“He’s my brother.” Michael says, turning back to look at Dean. “He has a lot of supporters, people he’d won over to his childish rebellion.”

“Rebellion?” Dean parrots, brows crinkling.

“We used to work together. But eventually he decided to do things his way.” Michael says, “He’s built a small empire that thinks his ideals will liberate the business from the shadows. And he places those who dare oppose him, under…persuasions that ensure he won’t be opposed a second time. He believes very strongly, that dream-share should be known by everyone.”

“Wait, what?” Dean shakes his head as the message hits him. “He wants to make dream-share wide-known? Tell normal people about it?”

“Yes. You can see how this would be problematic.” Michael replies.

Problematic is putting it too lightly. If the mass populace ever find out about dream-share, those in the business would be hunted down, and their friends and families would also be in serious shit. People don’t take kindly to being kept out of the know. And they definitely won’t take it kindly if they find out people in an underground business have been roaming free and digging around the subconscious of people with worthy secrets. Paranoia is shit.

“Hell would rain on us.” Dean mutters under his breath.

“Most likely.” Michael agrees, sounding just mildly concerned. Maybe the whole wreckage doesn’t matter to him. Maybe he just doesn’t want his near-singular control over the business to crash.

“You have to stop him.” Dean says.

“I can’t.”

“The hell you can’t! You have everyone in the business under your thumb. And everyone knows your influence outside it is no hanky-panky either.”

“It’s because of that that I can’t.” Michael says. “My brother’s been watching my moves as much as I’ve been watching his. If I or any of the people under my order try to get to him, he’d know well before the attack makes impact. And I know my brother, he would have contingencies set up, so that even if I manage to get him, his people would still have protocols to follow that would do nothing to obstruct his plans... I need someone not affiliated with me in any way to slip by his notice and do the work.”

“If he’s watching you closely too, how can you be sure he doesn’t know about this meeting of ours?” Dean asks.

“I’ve sent him a distraction for now. I assure you he knows nothing about this.” Michael answers “But I can’t always blindside him. It took me a month of arranging my routines haphazardly to throw him off, and my business can’t suffer that long again or he’ll be ahead in the game.”

“Why are you so sure I’ll be able to get to him if you can’t?”

“He doesn’t pay attention to little players like you. You’re not under any fixer’s name.”

“I used to work for Crowley.” Dean says, _and Azazel before that_. But he doesn’t mention it.

“But you broke away after the contract’s fulfilled, and now your name’s clear off the list.” Michael replies. “Most of dream-share is currently being handled by fixers, as you know they fix contracts for clients and assign teams to jobs. Independent work has been a thing of the past ever since Mr. Saito founded being a fixer. His team of course, was superb. I’ve seen long rosters of names but none as fluid in dynamic as the original.”

“Too bad most of them are _dead_.” Dean spits with an accusing glare Michael just ignores.

In the dream-share business, fixers have control over multiple teams, multiple players… Independent players find it harder and harder to get jobs on their own, so they approach fixers to take them under their roster. As far as Dean knows, Michael’s the biggest fixer in the world. It’s said he accomplished that by eliminating competition.

“The point is, my brother knows every fixer in 3 continents and he has a working knowledge of the fixers scattered around the rest of the world to get the names of the remaining if he ever want it. But your name won’t come up because you’re off the grid.” Michaels explains.

“I’m pretty sure I still have records from my past fixer.” Dean says. Crowley has his own brand of being anal.

“I took care of that.” Michael says, “In the past month I’ve wiped every record you have in dream-share clean. For all intents and purposes, you’re just a regular citizen with no evidence of being a member of a wide-spread underground activity. My brother won’t be watching you.”

“You erased my records?” Dean asks, a bit amazed and a lot unnerved.

“I told you I hate repeating myself Dean.” Michael says and Dean shut his mouth. “You have to step in and do the work. Keep it by the book, or be creative, I don’t care either way. Just make sure the target and his people don’t know what hit them. Be subtle. You may be off the grid now, but being stupid would still tip them off.”

It grinds at Dean how he’s being ordered around already. This is what he doesn’t like about fixers. They think they’re above their people. And Michael clearly seems to think he’s above everyone.

“Hey, if I’m off the grid, I won’t even be affected if your brother ever wins this fight and expose dream-share.” Dean says, shrugging to seem indifferent. He knows Michael won’t undo the clearing of his name if it took him a month to do it the first time. “I can just walk out of here and leave the life all together.”

Grey eyes stares at Dean. And then Michael laughs.

It’s not a good laugh.

“I keep asking you not to be stupid Dean, and you never listen.” Michael says with a wide smile that looks just wrong on his face. “You must know I won’t allow you to just walk away from this. My fight with Lucifer has been going on for a long time, and if you think I’d allow the only weapon I have on him to turn against me, you better think again.”

Dean knows that… He knows he can’t get away from this without some kind of miracle. But damn if he’s going to stop trying to antagonize Michael every chance he gets.

“You see, unlike you Dean, I’m not stupid.” Michael continues. “You can’t win wars without thorough planning. I may have made you a free man by erasing all your records but, I didn’t give your little brother the same favor.”

Dean feels a heavy stone drop in his gut.

“He has no record.” Dean argues. “I made sure of it. His name’s clean.”

That’s always been Dean’s first priority. To keep Sammy’s interference in the life secret. To make sure Sammy’s presence isn’t known by any players, much less any fixers. No one in the business even knows he has a brother.

Sammy never liked their arrangement, but Dean managed to make him agree to it by pointing out that they can’t _both_ be in over their heads in this business. One of them has to stay relatively clean to pull the other out if and when things got ugly… Sammy does his job of being Dean’s nameless point-man quietly and efficiently, without anyone knowing of his involvement.

But of course Michael Godson just _has_ to know. Dean Winchester has never been favored by life… But this is a bluff. Sam and Dean always make sure to keep Dean as the face of their operations and to keep Sam in the background. No record of him exists.

“His name won’t be so clean in the after-fall.” Michael tells Dean, “Aside from purging your name off the business in every way possible, I also set some records straight and made sure Sam Winchester’s participation in the field will not go undocumented. If you turn your back on this job, I’ll release Sam’s new permanent records. And you’ll find that my methods ensure permanent records _stay_ permanent.”

Dean grits his teeth, hating this man impossibly more for dragging his brother into this whole mess.

“Fine, you made your point.” Dean relents.

Michael smiles. And damn if Dean doesn’t want to wipe the floor with that smug face.

“But if I take this job and clean up your mess with Lucius or Lucifer or whatever his name is, I want things in return.” Dean says, because he’s not the kind of idiot that will agree to a job without any kind of compensation.

“Name it.” Michael says instantly, confident in his position in the world to provide any demands he thinks Dean may have.

“One, you don’t interfere with my work.” Dean says, and the rising of well-groomed eyebrows make him want to pat himself on the back. “If I need something, funding or drugs or whatever, _I_ would contact you. I don’t want to see you or your people otherwise. I’ll take care of finding people and help on my own. You stay out of it.”

Dean lets Michael soak that in for a moment. It’s a measure of trust somewhat, to not have a fixer monitor the job’s progress; trust that’s definitely not there between them. But _tough_ , because Dean doesn’t work well with eyes on him, and on a more important note he wants to be aware of Michael Godson’s presence as least as possible.

“Fine,” Michael says with a slight downturn of his mouth Dean’s proud of putting there. “I don’t really plan on looming that much since it might attract my brother’s attention on you anyway.”

Dean keeps the snort and eye-roll in him.

“Two, you pay me.” Dean continues. “I don’t think five billion will dent your pocket.”

“It won’t,” Michael says.

“Good, I want fifty.” Dean swiftly replies. Michael’s assets are said to be worth more than the top three richest persons in Forbes list put together. “Of course that’s besides the funding during the job.” He waits two seconds until Michael nods.

“And third, when this is all over, you delete all of Sam’s records in front of us.” Deans says, planting both hands palm down on the table and painting a fuck-all serious look on his face. “When I’ve done my job, and cleaned up your mess, I want you out of our lives. You don’t get to come near me or mine ever again. I want your word on that. Or me and my brother won’t cooperate. We’ll white-knuckle it on our own and leave you guys to your big-ass nuke war and damn the consequences.” Dean continues leveling a stare at Michael Godson. “These are my terms.”

Michael regards him back with narrowed grey eyes.

“You demand all this as if I can’t just threaten you with your lives if you don’t cooperate.” Michael says.

“Yeah well I’m not as stupid as you think Godson. If threatening me with death was an option, you would’ve done that in the first place.” Dean says. “You said it yourself. I’m the only weapon you have on Lucifer, so you won’t risk anything that ensures I won’t be functional.” Dean smirks. “So either agree to my terms or I walk. Maybe you’ll try to kill me, maybe you’ll succeed. But you won’t have a weapon. I doubt you got reserves of planter-slash-extractors with sparkling field experiences.”

Michael raises one eyebrow at him and then says “Well thank God you’re not completely idiotic at least.”

“Full of surprises.” Dean says and shrugs widely.

“I accept your terms, Dean Winchester.” Michael says with another slight incline of his head. “So will take the job?” He holds his right hand towards Dean.

Dean takes a second to mull it over, but he can’t see any way out of it to be honest. At least if his terms are met he’ll be free of this business at last.

“Yes.” Dean says and brings out his own hand to shake Michael’s.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

As soon as he’s comfortable with the distance he’s put between him and Michael Godson’s building, Dean ducks into a nondescript alley and digs around the duffel they returned to him after negotiations. He fishes out his weapons and brings them back to their proper places on his person. His knife slides into his boot-leg, his semi-automatic is tucked back into the right inside-pocket of his jacket and his colt in the left inside-pocket.

Feeling less naked with his weapons back on him, Dean digs around the bag again and gets the cellphone out of its hidden pocket. He turns it on and sees he has fourteen messages from Sammy, which is no surprise since he just went more than four hours without checking in. He quickly types a text to pacify his brother at least until he gets back.

 _“Safe. On my way back now.”_ Dean watches the phone lights blink as the message is sent. He then tucks the phone into his jeans pocket and starts walking out of the alley.

About five steps away from the (considerably) brighter-lit sidewalk, Dean pauses and reaches inside his jacket’s left inside-pocket to pull the colt out. He looks at it in his hand for a second before switching to grab it with his right hand and lifting it up so the cold metal nuzzle is touching his temple.

Dean takes a single breath in and pulls the trigger.

A soft click sounds out, but otherwise the dark night remains quiet.

Dean blows a sigh.

“Fuck me.” He mutters tiredly. He puts back the colt where it came from and continues on his walk out the alley.

His mind is still whirling about planning out this near-impossible job. Sammy would bitch at him for this for a long time…

He needs to find at least another dreamer to make it work.

He’ll discuss it with his baby brother when he gets home. He makes a mental note to stop by a liquor store because their upcoming conversation badly needs it.

.

End of Chapter 0


	2. Chapter 1: The Park, The Lake, The Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams leave a bittersweet taste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. Just a few warning my dear readers. This is a work in progress, and the tags and/or rating may change as the story progresses. Othrt characters will appear later on.

A Stutter in REM Cycle

_A Supernatural x Inception Crossover Fanfiction_

By Synxailla

.

Chapter 1: The Park, The Lake, The Library

.

The kite was flying without a string.

There used to be one attached to it, but now there’s none.

Before the kite was airborne the string was essential in making it fly, so of course there used to be a string attached to it. When the kite took off however, the string’s job changed from liberation to prevention, by limiting how high the kite can rise. It’s much better to just surrender the kite over to the wind after that, and so the string faded away.

Castiel watched the kite soar. It was a beautiful kite. Different than any he’d seen before, yet watching it held a feeling of familiarity. It was big, and then small, and then enormous. It was blue, and then red, and then gold, and then silver, and then all colors all at once. It shined, and flowed, and rippled, and swirled.

The wind blew down on Castiel’s face even as the kite rose up higher. The grass under his feet rustled with the wind and he felt them tickling his feet through his shoes. There were flowers scattered on the ground. He didn’t know the names of any of them. They smelled nice though. The wind carried their scent and it was wonderful.

Castiel looked back up at the kite. It now looked twice the size of a manta ray, and was shaped very much like one too, except for its color which was a shimmering sapphire-blue.

“Is that a flying stingray?” someone asked behind him, sounding taken aback and amused.

Castiel turned and saw a man standing a few steps away. His head tilted up, looking at the kite. He was dressed in a dark jacket and jeans with a plaid shirt. His feet were covered in sturdy-looking boots, and Castiel wondered if he can feel the grass on his feet through those too.

As if on cue, the man shifted his feet and looked down on where he stood. As the newcomer looked down, Castiel saw a glimpse of his eyes for a fraction of a second.

Behind Castiel, up in the sky, the kite turned emerald-green.

“Stingrays are different from manta rays.” Castiel said, and watched without blinking as the man’s dirty blond head snapped up from staring at his boots to look at Castiel.

“Huh?” he eloquently asked, all wide-eyed and mouth agape.

“Stingrays are vaguely diamond in shape with their pointed heads, and they’re dangerous because of the very potent venoms in their stingers. They often hide themselves by burying their body under the sand of the seabed” Castiel explained. “Manta rays have two protruding cephalic fins that look like horns on their heads. They’re graceful creatures underwater and can be sometimes seen leaping into the air, doing flips. Also, they don’t have deadly venom. Stingrays are different from mantas”

Castiel finished his explanation and waited for the man opposite him to take it all in. He patiently waited and was ready to clarify any confusion there might be at any moment. Knowing the difference between Stingrays and Manta rays is important. It can save lives. And if Castiel could help it, he wanted to save this man’s life.

Slowly, the man in the jacket closed his gaping mouth shut and straightened his spine from his previous bowed position of looking at his feet. He blinked twice at Castiel, and then his mouth formed a beautiful smile.

“Heh, so that’s a manta ray.” The man said, pointing up the sky behind Castiel.

“No.” Castiel said.

“I thought you said mantas have some funky fins that look like horns on their heads?” The man asked, confused again. “That thing has funky fins that look like horns on its head.”

Castiel’s brows crinkled and he listened as the wind whistled a short three-toned melody.

“Yes they do.” Castiel replied. “But that’s not a manta ray.”

“What is it then?”

“It’s a kite of course.” Castiel said. It wasn’t a manta because it was a kite. Kites don’t have cephalic fins, or fins of any kind, so of course the kite was not a manta.

The man’s eyes blinked again. He stared at Castiel for a couple of seconds and frowned as if he was trying to figure something difficult out. Eventually he shook his head in acceptance of defeat and smiled. As if it was okay if he didn’t understand right away. He’d just take Castiel’s word for it.

“Okay so it’s a kite.”

Castiel was strangely warmed by that.

“Do you want to fly one?” Castiel asked. “This park is for flying kites.”

And then the sky was filled with a scattering of other colorful, stringless kites and the wind now carried the sound of chatter by people flying them.

The man’s smiled faded and a somber look overtook his pleasant face. He subtly tucked his head down and scoped the area with his eyes and his posture tensed, as if expecting something to attack him. Several seconds passed and nothing did.

Castiel tilted his head at the man. It was his turn to be confused.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked, stepping closer to peer at the man’s hardened face.

The man flinched but didn’t step back. He also stopped looking cautiously around him at the other people enjoying their afternoon at the park, and Castiel was gratified at that.

“Uh, yeah.” The man breathed, looking back at Castiel. They were less than a step apart, and this close Castiel realized the man was taller by a couple of inches than him, and that he had freckles on his face that simmered in and out of existence, as if they couldn’t make up their mind if they wanted to stay or not.

Castiel stared harder and the freckles stopped vanishing and stayed. It made him smile. The man’s full lips parted and words came out again. “I’m just peachy”

“That’s good.” Castiel said, leaning back to look at the sky filled with multiple flying shapes. The green manta-shaped kite was floating in loops. “You should fly a kite. It’s fun.” It would take the man’s worries away, hopefully. Castiel always relaxed when he’s flying a kite.

The man’s shoulders shook as he chuckled briefly.

“You have a one-track mind don’t yah?” The man said, looking at Castiel with a grin of exasperation. “Yeah okay, sure, let’s fly some kites.”

“Here.” Castiel handed him a stick wounded with string. On the end of the string was a generic-looking kite. It was green too and was shaped in the typical diamond-kite form. It looked pretty boring, but Castiel wasn’t worried about that.

The man looked down at the string in his hand and back at Castiel. “So… How do I do this?”

“I’ll help set it up for you.” Castiel replied. “Unroll a lot of string out so it can fly high.”

The man started unwinding the simple string from the stick, it never tangled up. When he was satisfied with the length laid out, he looked back expectantly at Castiel. Castiel took the kite and handed it to him.

“Toss it up in the air with both hands.” Castiel instructed, taking a couple of steps to the side. “Do it hard and let the wind catch it.”

The man nodded almost absently at him, and with a determined look on his face, held the kite with both hands, crouched a bit, and then pitched the kite up into the air with a jump. The stick stayed on his right hand and the loose string climbed up with the kite as the wind pulled it high and higher still.

“Huh.” The man said, looking up at the rising kite and sounding impressed. “It’s surprisingly easy.”

“Flying a kite is easy when you’re doing it right.” Castiel replied.

They watched as the kite steadily rose, then it stopped when the string pulled taut.

“It doesn’t need its string anymore.” Castiel observed aloud as the line faded away.

The man opened his empty right hand, looked down at it for a second, and then lifted his gaze back up to his steadily hovering kite.

“How come mine’s different looking than yours?” he asked Castiel, “All the others look special.” He looked at the other kites in shapes as simple as circles and as complex as helixes.

“The wind just took it. Eventually the kite will shape itself with the wind.” Castiel answered naturally.

“And how does the wind know what shape to make it?” he asked again, curiosity and intelligence shining in his voice and eyes.

“You tell the wind, the wind listens.” Castiel answered patiently. “The wind here has always listens.”

“I never heard you tell the wind you wanted a manta-kite.” The man accused lightly with a smirk on his lips and mirth in his eyes. “Did you whisper it?”

Was he…teasing? He sounded like it. But that was absurd, of course. This man just wanted to know how to fly a kite. And Castiel wanted to teach him, because no one should be without this knowledge. Especially this man who smiled beautifully, and talked lightly and easily with Castiel, and sounded like he wanted to know, genuinely wanted to know. This man deserved all the things that made him smile.

“You don’t need to say it aloud.” Castiel answered, looking at green eyes. “The wind knows because it listens, not because it asks.”

“So I just… think at it?”

“Yes.” Castiel said. The man looked dubious, so he urged him. “Try it.”

The man still looked a bit unconvinced, but he had humored Castiel so far, and it seemed he’ll humor Castiel again.

“Okay.” He nodded and slipped his eyes closed, looking deep in thought.

Up in the sky, the man’s kite stumbled a bit and then slowly turned ink-black, and grew in size, and began expanding sideways. The man opened his eyes in time to see the kite finish turning into…

“A bat silhouette?” Castiel asked, tilting his head sideways to better look at the newly transformed kite.

“Got it in one.” The man replied, sounding proud. Maybe at himself for successfully telling the wind to shape his kite the way he wanted, maybe at Castiel for guessing right about the shape. Castiel turned back to look at the man and saw a blinding happy grin pointed at him. Maybe it was both.

“It’s the bat-signal.” The man said with his teeth showing in an expectant grin at Castiel.

Castiel squinted in thought and asked, “Why would bats need a visual signal? They’re effectively blind aren’t they?”

Castiel almost regretted the question when he saw the man’s grin fade into a shocked-appalled expression. But it was the first time Castiel saw that particular expression on the man’s face, and he can’t bring himself to truly regret learning something new about this man; like how wide his eyes got and how his nose wrinkled a little when his mouth drops in surprise.

“You don’t know the bat-signal? You don’t know Batman?” The man asked loudly.

“The fictional hero franchise? I don’t know much about it.” Castiel answered honestly, but apologetically. “I know it’s about a vigilante, though that’s about it.”

The man blinked unbelievingly at him and staggered a bit. He looked like he needed to sit down.

“Let’s sit down.” Castiel said, gesturing to the convenient park bench two steps behind them. “You look unwell.”

The man absently follows his lead. Castiel gently lowered himself on the bench and the man heavily sunk into the seat beside him.

“I can’t believe…” the man started to say, sounding short of breath despite the lack of physically taxing activities. He looked beside him at Castiel, and his shock-appalled expression turned into hard determination. “You need to be educated, man.” He said. “You can’t go walking around not knowing about mother-flipping _Batman_.”

Castiel couldn’t help the smile curling up on his mouth.

“Alright.” He said agreeably. “I’ll look it up sometime.”

“Yeah, you do that.” The man breathed. He turned back into the sky and looked at his kite that turned different. It was still a bat-silhouette, but instead of being purely black in color, a streak of bright blue ran along its two wings. He smiled up at it and turned to face Castiel, still wearing the smile. “My name’s Dean.” He said.

“That’s a great name. It suits you.” Castiel said, and the man– _Dean_ hummed a laugh. Even the wind didn’t sound as good as that laugh. “I’m Castiel.” Castiel said.

“Yeah I know.” Dean replied casually. “So Cas, this park is for flying kites right?”

“Cas?”

“Yeah, your full name’s a mouthful so I shortened it.”

“Oh.” Castiel said, taking it in. He can’t remember the last time anyone bothered to give him a nickname.

“You don’t like it?” Dean asked, sounding genuinely worried. “I could stop calling you that if you want.”

“No!” Castiel replied fast and loud. Then he realized he sounded ridiculous, and he cleared his throat and took a breath, and tried again. “No, it’s fine, I… I like it.”

Dean smirked and nodded at him. “Okay.”

“Do you…”  Castiel began but stopped. He looked at Dean and Dean looked back at him inquiringly. “Do you want me to call you by another name too?”

Dean laughed again.

“Nah, Dean’s fine. You said it suited me.”

“Alright, Dean.” Castiel replied. And it felt good to say that name, so he said it again. “Dean, I shall call you Dean.”

“Cas, dude, you sound like you’re naming a puppy.” Dean snorted, leaning back on the bench with a happy smile.

“I think a puppy would be happy having the same name as you.”

“Yeah, no. Don’t you start getting ideas.” Dean warned with a mock glare.

It was Castiel’s turn to hum a laugh.

“So anyway, Cas.” Dean said, taking back his attention. “Does this park offer any other entertainment or is it strictly for flying kites only?”

Castiel blinked at the question and pondered it for half a second.

“It’s a park. It can do what any park can do.” He answered.

“Does it have things kids can play on?” Dean asked.

“Sure.” Castiel said, looking to the far left where swing sets seesaws and merry go rounds stood. Some kids that weren’t flying kites giggled and ran and played. The swing sets swung high every which way and the seesaws doubled as slides and the merry go rounds lifted up and down from the ground as it spun the giggly children around.

“They look like they’re having a blast.” Dean commented.

“Children are supposed to be always happy.” Castiel said with a soft smile.

“Yeah, it’s a pain in the ass when they cry.” Dean said but he was smiling too. “The playground’s awesome, Cas. What else does this place have?”

Castiel smiled at the question. Dean sounded like he really wanted to know. What better way to do that than to explore?

“Do you want to take a walk?” Castiel asked even as he stood up.

“Thought you’d never asked.” Dean said, standing up and grinning at Castiel. “Lead the way, Cas.”

And so they walked, leaving their kites to fly among the others. Castiel led them to the playground where they had to dodge the kids zooming about. When they neared the quiet parents sitting by benches on the side, Dean went really quiet, his footsteps barely even sounded, but the tension was gone when they passed the benches and they made their way over to the duck pond.

“Those are ducks.” Castiel said, pointing to a flock of white-feathered birds with long slender necks.

“They look like swans.” Dean said.

“All ducks become swans when they act like it.” Castiel said. “They only turn back into ducks if they’re rude and misbehaving.”

“I see.” Dean nodded.

“Here, let’s go feed them.” Castiel said, and climbed on a bridge that arched over the pink water of the pond. Dean followed.

“What do we feed them?” Dean asked, leaning forward on the marble railing of the bridge to look at the ducks floating on the pink pond.

“Anything that’s not fowl in nature.” Castiel answered.

“So no relative cannibalism. Good to know.” Dean nodded and then looked thoughtful for a moment. “How about gummy worms?”

“That’s fine.” Castiel replied and fished two small bags of gummy worms from his pocket. “Here,” he said, handing one of the packs to Dean.

“Thanks.” Dean said and immediately opened his pack and picked a vibrant blue gummy worm. He was about to drop it over the bridge but he hesitated and looked at Castiel “I just toss ‘em down?”

“Yes, of course.” Castiel replied, squinting at Dean with a confusedly. Haven’t he fed ducks before?

But Dean just grinned and shrugged. “Okay.” He let the gummy worm drop and it made a small ripple as it landed on the water.

The duck nearest it swam and picked it up with its bill. It ate the gummy worm whole and then its white feathers shimmered into the same vibrant blue of the gummy worm.

“Awesome.” Dean said, watching the blue duck paddle back to its white brethren on the soft-pink water. “Will it change back to white?”

“Eventually, when they finish digesting,” Castiel said, opening his own bag of gummy worms and tilting the whole packet over the pond, “That is of course, considering they behave. Otherwise they turn into the first form of duck and have to work to change back into something beautiful.”

Castiel’s vibrantly colored gummy worms dropped down and the ducks swam over and feasted. Five seconds later the pink pond was filled with about a dozen ducks in bright reds, greens, maroons, silvers, and blues.

“Cool.” Dean said, as he too dumped his opened packet of colorful duck-food into the pond.

They watched the ducks for a while in silence, until Dean eventually looked at Castiel and said, “Where to next?”

They walked all around the park and Castiel showed Dean all the things in it.

“Here’s the drinking fountain.” Castiel said. “You turn the dial into the beverage you want it to give.”

“What choices do the dials have?”

“Everything.” Castiel answered. “There are thermos-cups beside it if you want hot cocoa.”

“Oh, right of course.” Dean said, sipping his Dr. Pepper.

They walked some more.

“These rocks are cushiony, Cas.”

“Yes, so you can sit comfortably on them whenever you want.”

“That’s mighty convenient.”

“Parks are supposed to be convenient.”

And then walked some more.

“Hey, if we walk over that sand, will we also feel it under our feet, like the grass?” Dean asked, pointing to the patch of sand by the flowerbed.

“Yes, but the prints we’ll left behind will be of our shoes.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re wearing them.”

“Huh, makes sense.” Dean said. “C’mon, let’s go walk on it.”

And they talked about everything and nothing.

“You can still see the kites from over here huh?” Dean said, pointing at the sky and lounging on his reclining chair Castiel helped him form out of their footprint-ridden sand.

Castiel nodded from the sand lazy boy he was seated on. “It would be a shame if you can’t watch them whenever you want and wherever you are.”

“I know, I had to do some serious wind-whispering to get that kite to look like the bat-signal.”

“You did well for someone who haven’t flown a kite before.” Castiel said, trying to sound encouraging and impressed.

“Thanks.” Dean said with an embarrassed-looking smile, so Castiel took it as a success. “You helped a lot.”

“It was nothing.” Castiel replied, feeling funny at being thanked.

“So wherever we go we can see the kites?” Dean asked.

“Yes. Like the sun. You see it in the sky everywhere you go during the day.”

“Awesome.” Dean said, getting up from his sand furniture. “Does this park have anything else I haven’t seen yet?”

Castiel lead them to the opposite side of the kids playing to where trees stood tall and wide. Their trunks had shelves in them that were filled with hundreds of books.

“Here’s where you go if you want to pick something out to read.” Castiel said, looking back at Dean. “You can find anything you want to read in the trees’ shelves, and you sit under their shade and read, or climb up their branches. They’re strong and won’t let you fall.”

“Have you read all of these?” Dean asked, running his hands over one of the trees. “There’re so many.”

“I read a lot, but sometimes you open the same book and find a different text in it.” Castiel shrugged. “So I never stop reading.”

“That’s mighty dedicated of yah.” Dean said with a smirk. “You can’t get me to read shit if it’s not important or if I don’t like it.”

“That’s not so different from me.” Castiel said. “I read because I like what I’m reading too.”

Dean looked pondering for a moment.

“Yeah I see your point.” He said, “but I think you like reading better than I do.” Dean looked at the rows of book-bearing trees again and gave a low whistle. “You definitely like doing it a lot.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Castiel asked. He never felt bothered with his hobbies before. But if Dean’s bothered by it…

“Are you kidding? It’s fine! I wish I was half as well-read as you.” Dean said quickly, turning to face him with reassurance. “Really Cas, don’t let anyone make you second-guess yourself, okay?”

Castiel blinked. But Dean looked so determined about it that all he could do was agree.

“Okay.” Castiel nodded.

“Good.” Dean said. “You’re awesome the way you are. Don’t ever change.”

Castiel didn’t know how to answer that, so he just let himself smile. Dean smiled back at him and stepped closer to rest his warm hand heavily on Castiel’s shoulder. It felt wonderful.

“Hey, what’s over there?” Dean asked, looking behind Castiel to the clear patch of ground past the trees.

“It’s for people who want to set-up picnics.” Castiel answered, stepping out of Dean’s touch to walk over to the empty space. “They can take their baskets and their blankets and lay them here.”

“Oh, that’s nice…” Dean said, following to stand beside Castiel. He looked thoughtful again, and when he looked at Castiel, he was grinning. “You know what would be nicer? If there’s a great view just over there. You know, like an overlooking cliff to the sea where sunsets could be watched.”

Castiel thought about it.

“That does sound nice.” He mused. And then the flat land shifted as an edge and a drop-off cliff formed several feet away. The splashing of waves sounded and the sea could be viewed touching the horizon. The sky was blue and the sea was sparkling. The scent of seawater filled the air.

“Awesome.” Dean breathed, taking some steps closer to the overlooking view. He turned back and looked as Castiel, a little uncertain. “Hey Cas, uh…can you do me a solid?” he asked with a weak smile.

“Anything.” Castiel answered immediately. Because in this place, Castiel can do anything. And if Dean wanted it, Castiel will give it.

Dean looked a bit surprised at his quick answer, but he shook it off and continued.

“Can you stand there and close your eyes and count to four?” Dean said.

Castiel frowned. It didn’t sound like such a big favor to be embarrassed of asking. Why did Dean look uncertain about asking it?

“Sure.” Castiel answered. “Do you want me to do it now?” he said as he began lowering his eyelids.

“No, not yet.” Dean said, and Castiel opened his eyes again. “I’ll tell you when okay? Just…stand there for now.”

“Alright Dean.” Castiel said.

Dean stared at him for a moment, with an unreadable expression on his face. Castiel just stared back. A few moments later, Dean nodded to himself.

“Okay Cas,” Dean said. “Do it now.”

Castiel nodded and slipped his eyes closed again.

“One, two, three, four.” He counted out loud and then opened his eyes.

He was met with the beautiful view of the sea and sky but Dean was nowhere.

Castiel felt his heart jump and he ran to the place Dean last stood. There was nothing there. Castiel took a couple more steps forward and peered down the cliff. Only waves hitting the rocks greeted him. He stepped back and turned and scanned the park with his eyes. Castiel still saw no sign of him.

“Dean?” he asked the wind aloud, but it only whistled sadly at him.

Castiel felt lonely, which was something he never felt when he was in the park. He looked up at the sky and saw the kites still flying overhead. Dean’s bat-signal kite was floating down lower and lower… Castiel reached up to touch it, straining and stretching and struggling, and then he was falling.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Cas was falling.

There was a big splash and he fell down on his butt onto the hard wood of the dock. Castiel had strained and pulled hard but he lost his balance and the rod from his hands slipped away right before he toppled backwards. To say he was disoriented was an understatement.

“Woah Cas! That was a big one!”

Cas jumped a bit at hearing the loud voice beside him. He looked up and he saw Dean laughing. And then the world righted itself.

He was looking down at Cas with one of his half-smirk-half-grins. One of his hands was holding a fishing pole, the other was outstretched down towards Cas.

He smilingly shook his head at Cas and said, “I told you to put your back into reeling it in, and to never ever–”

“–let go of the rod.” Cas finished saying with him. He reached up and took Dean’s hand. He felt a rush as he was tugged up to his feet again.

“Yeah man, you can’t catch fish if you don’t reel them in.” Dean said, looking up and down Cas. “You okay? You landed pretty hard.”

Cas blinked at the worry in Dean’s voice.

“I’m fine, Dean.” Cas answered. Which was true. Aside from the shock of falling, he didn’t feel hurt at all. “Sorry about the fish though. It must’ve been big.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. We always need a story of ‘the one that got away’ to tell people when we get back.” Dean said, waving his free hand about.

When they get back…?

Cas looked away from Dean’s face for a second to look around… They were on a wide wooden dock, with two short recliner chairs behind them, and fishing equipment to the side. Overhead, the sky was a clear blue, and in front of them was clear water reflecting the sky. Castiel looked on and saw some fishes swimming under.

Ah yes of course. When they get back from their fishing trip at this lake, that’s what they’ll need the story for.

“Is that customary whenever people go fishing?” Cas asked, looking back at Dean. “coming back with a story about a big fish getting away?”

“Well, yeah, duh.” Dean answered. “So thank you for providing us with one.” He smiled.

“Oh. You’re welcome then.” Cas said. “Thank you for inviting me to go fishing with you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that. I wanted company.” Dean said with an easy shrug. “I’m just glad you came along.”

“If you want me, I’ll always come along.” Cas said earnestly.

“Thanks Cas.” Dean smiled softly, but a bit brokenly at him. Before Cas can ask, Dean was thrusting a rod a him. “Here.” He said, handing over his own fishing rod.

Cas took it and watched as Dean walked over to pick up the rod Cas dropped when he fell. He reeled in the line all the way and gave the rod a once over.

“It’s not broken.” Dean announced, glancing over at Cas with a smile. “Just needs a new lure. Grab one from the bag would you?” he said, looking somewhere to the left of Cas.

Cas turned to where Dean was looking and saw a duffel bag not two steps away from him. He walked over it, crouched down, placed the rod in his hand on the dock, and opened the bag.

“Be careful. You don’t wanna get poked by the hooks.” Dean called out.

“Okay.” Cas replied.

Inside the duffel, Cas saw all sorts of things, some of them were stuff that looked like spare parts for the rods, but there was also a lot of tools; like different types of wrenches, a carjack, a mini blowtorch, and a compartmentalized see-through container of nuts, bolts, and screws. There were also several flashlights, a coil of rope, four big hooks, a stack of old records, a lot of cassette tapes, two feather dusters, and about sixteen rolls of toilet paper, still in the packaging.

“Dean, I can’t find the lures.” Cas called out to the man who was fiddling with the reel of the rod.

“They’re in a blue circle box.” Dean replied. “Check under the records.”

Cas turned back to the impressive assortments inside the duffel bag and lifted the records out. Most of the sleeves read “Led Zeppelin” but there were others too like “KISS”, “Metallica”, and the lone “Bon Jovi”. He carefully got the records out of the bag and set them beside Dean’s rod. He saw the blue circular box and got it out too, and then he placed the records back in how he found them and zipped the duffel closed.

Cas stood and walked to where Dean was, bringing the box of lures and fishing rod with him.

“I found it.” Cas said, lifting up the blue plastic box in his hand. Dean turned to him and smiled.

“Thanks Cas. Let’s get this done with so we can go back to fishing.”

Cas nodded and opened the box, inside were shiny and colorful lures that looked very tempting to touch.

“They’re very beautiful.” Cas said.

“They ain’t called lures for nothing.” Dean replied. He slowly reached inside the box in Cas’ hand, carefully bypassing the sharp little hooks, and picked out a lure.

The lure Dean picked didn’t look like a tiny fish. It was shaped like a teardrop and had the same soothing blue color as the sky overhead, like a drop of heaven. It looked like it would be more in place if it was on a necklace than as bait to catch fish.

Dean did some quick movements with his hands and then the new lure was attached to the rod’s line.

“There we go.” He said with a smile. Castiel smiled back. “Let’s get fishing.”

A few moments later found them both sitting on, surprisingly comfortable, foldable short recliners and facing the lake with their rods in their hands and lures in the water.

“This is nice, right?” Dean said after a while.

“Yes it is.” Cas replied. “Do you often go fishing?”

“Not nearly often enough.” Dean said with a chuckle. “If I could, I’d go every weekend.”

“You like fishing a lot.” Cas observed.

“What’s not to like? It’s quiet, and relaxing, and all you do is sit and wait, and then when you’re done, you even get dinner from it.”

“I see.” Cas said. Dean makes the act of fishing sound so wonderful.

“It’s amazingly simple, Cas.” Dean said enthusiastically at him. And then his smile faded and he turned to look at the lake. “Sometimes I can’t help but wish everyday life was as simple and fulfilling as fishing.”

Cas took in Dean’s words… He waited to be surprised by the fact that Dean spoke them, but he never was. All Dean wanted was to be able to live life simply, and Cas felt for him.

“Maybe someday.” Cas said, trying to sound encouraging.

Dean sighed, but when he looked back at Cas, there was a slight smile on his face.

“Yeah Cas, maybe someday.”

And Cas felt that when that day comes for Dean, he wanted very much to be part of it… But he held his tongue and smiled at the man beside him instead.

Then their lines tugged and Dean turned back to the lake.

“Hey we got something!” Dean said with a wide grin and a steely resolve in his eyes as he smoothly winded in his line. Cas copied him, finding it easy. He distantly wondered how come he toppled over his previous try.

Two splashes sounded as both Dean and Cas reeled in their catch. The fish were big, as big as Cas’ forearm and they were healthy looking bass.

“Nice catch.” Dean commented, and Cas silently agreed.

They placed the fish in a big cooler along with other bass from their previous catch. It was more than half-full.

“At this rate we’ll fill up the cooler soon.” Cas said, looking at Dean’s proud smirk.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, “we’ll be hauling off fish like–” He let the words hang and snapped his head up, looking at something far and unseen, and his smirk dropped.

Cas squinted at Dean, wondering why he’d trailed off. And then he heard it…

“Music.” Cas heard it, it was slow and faint, but it was definitely there, somewhere beyond the trees on the other side of the lake, somewhere beyond the skies.

“Cas I have to tell you something.” Dean said urgently, his words clearer than the faint music that’s starting to rise up.

Cas looked back at Dean, and was surprised at the traces of apprehension and worry he saw on the man’s face… The music grew and words could soon be heard.

_Welcome to where time stands still_

_No one leaves and no one will_

_Moon is full, never seems to change_

_Just labeled mentally deranged_

“You can tell me anything, Dean.” Cas replied, straightening up and stepping closer, trying to soothe him but not having words, so he had to settle for making Dean know he was here. Right here.

Dean smiled at him, but it wasn’t his usual happy smile. It looked sad.

“Yeah, of course you’d say that.” Dean murmured and slowly shook his head, still with that sad smile on. He looked at Cas’ face and Cas tried to say with his eyes that it’s okay, everything’s fine.

 “Dean.” Cas said. It was the only thing he seemed capable of saying, because the world was failing to make much sense. Dean’s worry seemed to reflect back on their surroundings. The clear skies darkened, and the lake turned murky, the tall green trees seemed to sag and turned brown. “Dean, I’m here.”

The sweet music was louder now.

_Dream the same thing every night_

_I see our freedom in my sight_

_No locked doors, No windows barred_

_No things to make my brain seem scarred_

“Yeah, you are.” Dean said, looking deeply into Cas’ eyes, and paying no mind to the deteriorating surroundings. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Dean.” Cas said, feeling his chest grew tight, the world was dissolving faster now, and only Dean remained clear. What if Dean fades away too? “Dean, no.”

“It’s okay Cas,” Dean said, putting both hands on Cas’ shoulders and shouting to be heard over the rising music. “It’s fine…” he peered at Cas’ eyes and anxiously asked, “We had fun right? You had fun, right?”

Dean sounded like he was desperate for an answer, so of course Cas gave it to him.

“Yes. I had a lot of fun.” Cas said, raising his voice to be heard over the music, because he wanted– _needed_ Dean to hear him.

The music was almost roaring now.

_Sleep my friend and you will see_

_That dream is my reality_

_They keep me locked up in this cage_

_Can't they see it's why my brain says rage_

“That’s great!” Dean shouted, pushing his mouth closer to Cas’ ear, both hands holding him close in an almost embrace. “I’m glad, Cas. Because I had tons of fun too. And I can’t remember the last time _this_ has been fun…”

Cas reveled in the close contact, but all too soon Dean broke away. He extended his pushed and held Cas away at arm’s length.

“But it’s over now.” Dean said, smiling his sad smile at Cas. “So thank you.” And then Dean lets go of his hold on Cas’ shoulders and pushes him away.

_Sanitarium, leave me be_

_Sanitarium, just leave me alone_

Cas tries to scrabble forward and grab at Dean, but no matter how hard he tried, he could never reach him. His heart thudded in panic, and his head swam with the loud music and the inky darkness that was swallowing everything up. He tried to talk, to shout, to scream, but he couldn’t find his voice. Everything was falling apart.

In front of him, Dean seemed to steel himself and his shaky sad smile turned happy for a second. But Cas knew the truth, he knew Dean was sad too. He raised his hand in a single wave, opened his lips and said the most hurtful words Cas had ever heard.

“And goodbye.”

The music kept on roaring

_Build my fear of what's out there_

_Can I breathe the open air_

_Whisper things into my brain_

_Assuring me that I'm insane_

It was over. Dean was gone. Everything turned black.

…

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“Dude, you’re not helping.” Sam says from his work desk piled high with books and papers, giving Dean one of his disapproving glares.

“What? You said your old files needed to be sorted, that’s what I’m doing.” Dean says defensively, elbow-deep in one of Sammy’s boxes of research for one of their previous jobs.

“No, you’re making it worse.” Sam says, standing up and walking over to their small dining table, also loaded with Sam’s papers, where Dean is parked. “If you bothered to check, you’d see that box has been sorted already and all you’re doing is messing it up.”

Dean looks at the box in his hand and turns it to find Sam’s neat script writing on it saying ‘SORTED’.

Dean looks back up at his giant of a brother with a sheepish grin. “It doesn’t hurt to double-check?”

Sam just frowns and snatches the box away from Dean.

“Look, I know this thing on our plate is hot news,” Sam says with a sigh, after placing his box of files aside, away from Dean and sitting down on the chair opposite him. “But you can’t let pressure get to you, man.”

“Pssh, who said anything about being pressured?” Dean says, leaning on his seat. “I’m not pressured.”

Sam just looks evenly at him.

“Dean, last night after you told me you took a job from that big-shot Godson, you tried to get back out there saying you changed your mind and didn’t care if they shoot you down, but you’ll–and I quote, ‘shove this shitty job down their throats because the fate of dream-share doesn’t need to be our responsibility god damn it’. If that wasn’t pressure, I’d have to call it something less nice.”

“Shut up, I was drunk.” Dean muttered with a glare.

“Look Dean, I know this job’s big, like, world-changing big, but you’re not doing it alone.” Sam says solemnly. “You have me on your team.”

Dean looks at his brother and sees all the support in the world reflected back at him… He can’t help but smile. God, he doesn’t want to drag Sam into this, though Dean knows better than to say that out loud because Sam doesn’t take well to being babied. But right now, Dean can’t be more grateful for his brother’s support…

And speaking of support.

“Do you think we can find anyone to work with us on this?” Dean asks with a frown. “Few people believe that Lucius Adstrum exists, and those that do are terrified of him.”

“Yeah, about that Dean, I think we can’t have people already in the business in on this job.” Sam says, wearing his own frown.

That’s a shocker. And Dean’s face must convey the thought because Sam hurries to explain.

“From what you told me about your meeting with Godson, Lucius Adstrum has tabs on all the players through their fixers… Even if they’re not working with any fixers now, most, if not all dreamers have records with at least one of them.”

“So what? We don’t ask for help?” Dean says. “A job this big can’t be done easy without a team, Sammy.”

“I’m not saying we don’t get help.” Sam replies. “I’m saying we need people without records to ensure the job won’t be compromised. I mean, Godson went out of his way to erase yours, right? It just seems important to be under the radar.”

“The son of a bitch did put some emphasis on working unnoticed.” Dean says. “But if he wanted this job done quicker, he should’ve erased a lot of dreamers’ records and pulled them in this job too.”

“I think that would’ve been too obvious. And you’re a special case, so he could risk taking you off the grid, since you didn’t have much of a record in the first place, but if someone who’s a regular at the job suddenly drops off, it would catch attention.” Sam says, with his serious thinking-face on. “The obvious out would be to recruit new people.”

“Fuck that Godson for dumping us with this shitty job.” Dean groans. “We can’t recruit fresh faces, Sammy. This life isn’t kind to people. We can’t put that load on them.”

“Dean, I know you worry about placing people in danger or burdening them, God knows I do.” Sam says with all seriousness, “but if we recruit new guys, they won’t be placed in the same risk as the players already in the business. For one, they won’t be manipulated by fixers, and two, they’d have us to cover their back. They won’t have any records, and when this job’s done they’re free like us.”

Dean tries to think about it, to see it his brother’s way… But he just can’t wrap his head about dragging someone down and pushing his problems at them.

“I still don’t like it Sammy.” Dean says. “How will we know they won’t get sucked in? This is Godson we’re working for. The guy’s a manipulative bastard.”

“Well, didn’t Godson promise he won’t interfere with how you do the job? And that you’re free to choose your own people to work with without him sticking his nose into it, and of course you secured his final deal that he won’t ever bother us again when this is done.” Sam counts out for him, which just goes to show alcohol doesn’t inhibit his memory skills.

Dean sighs, but he’s not one to give up easy.

“What if we don’t recruit people Sam?” Dean asks. “Do we have any alternative besides just the two of us slaving over this job on our own?”

Sam sighs at Dean’s stubbornness, but he soon puts his thinking-face back on and puts his massive intellect to use at his brother’s request.

“Well, if we trace people and dig really, _really_ deep…” Sam begins, “we _might_ find unattached players. But I won’t hold out much hope for that because we all know people in this business not under fixers’ protections are…eliminated, if they’re caught and overpowered by some of the sadistic people.”

Dean glares at the table. Damn this business for turning as bloody and dirty as it is now.

“Okay Sammy,” Dean says “we can try out recruiting… _but_ we also try finding unattached players willing to work with us.”

Sam starts to look reluctantly impressed by Dean’s pretty logical decision.

“I’ll handle the recruiting; you handle tracing people and sniffing them out.” Dean announces with a grin, “Whoever finds one first wins and we’ll work with those new guys, or girls.”

Sam frowns at him.

“Dean, don’t tell me you’re planning to slack off on your side to force me to find experienced players, because you really don’t want to recruit people.” Sam says, exasperated.

“Okay Sammy,” Dean says, “I won’t tell you.”

Sam sighs loudly, but his brother knows Dean enough to know when to not push it. Both of them are stubborn, but Sam can compromise with the best of them.

“Fine.” Sam says, clearing the air. “But stop trying to help me sort out my files. It’ll go faster with just me, since I know my system and you don’t have one.”

“Hey!” Dean protests in mock-hurt.

Sam just smirks and raises an eyebrow at him.

“If you really want to do something useful,” Sam began, “then feel free to bring back those books I borrowed last week for that last job we did. They’re in that backpack by the door.”

“Really Sam? You’re turning me into your errand boy now?” Dean asks in a deadpan. “I already checked out those books for you, and you can’t even be bothered to return them?”

“Don’t be so melodramatic, I know you like going there anyway because you ogle some poor librarians.” Sam replies with a sniff. “And FYI, as your point-man, I’ve been running more errands for you than I can count. So technically, you owe me a gazillion errands if you ever hope to be even.”

“A gazillion? Really, Sammy?” Dean says with a teasing smirk. “How old are you?”

Sam retaliates by chucking a ball of crumpled paper at Dean’s head.

“Just shut up and do it, Jerk.” Sam says with a smirk of his own. “And if you still want us to move out of here by the end of the week, drop a word with the landlady on your way out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says, standing up from his chair and dragging his feet to the front door of their shabby apartment. “Is there anything else you’d like done, princess?”

“It would be nice if you brought back something other than pie and alcohol.” Sam says.

“Okay, I’ll bring back pizza too.” Dean smiles as he stoops to redo the lace on one of his shoes.

He heard Sam sigh and mutter “A salad won’t kill you once in a while.”

Dean just smirks as he grabs the backpack near the door and straightens up. Before he could grab hold of the door knob though, he hears Sam call out behind him.

“Oh and Dean, when you get back, at least one of us should go under to check out that new compact PASIV Godson gave you.” Sam says, “I know you checked the schematics and circuitry already, but we still don’t know if it operates as pretty as it is on the outside.”

“Yeah okay.” Dean answers with a nod.

“And try not to terrorize the librarians too much.” Sam says with a frown. “They know I’m related to you, and I don’t want to be banned from that place.”

“You wound me Sam.” Dean smirks, grabs the knob, opens the door, steps out, and shuts it on his brother’s bitch-face.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

After a short word with their landlady, Dean starts on his way to the library. It’s a short ten-minute walk from the building.

Dean has been a bit reluctant to move out of their current apartment, since he knows the near distance from the library greatly helps with Sam’s research jobs, but they agreed it would be best not to stay in the same place after a job, especially now that they’re about to start a new one.

Soon, Dean arrives at the library and walks briskly to the desk. He smiles when he sees the person looking busy behind the counter.

“Hey there Anna,” Dean greets the redhead librarian with one of his smoothest smiles. “Long day?”

“Hi Dean,” the pretty woman greets back with a smile despite her haggard impression a while ago. “Yeah, it’s been a busy day. I can’t believe we’re still four hours from closing.”

“You just hate those days huh?” Dean says, making small talk and leaning one of his elbows on the counter. “Work isn’t that much fun, is it?” Dean asks and keeps from wincing at himself in sympathy.

Nope, work is definitely not fun for him.

“Yeah, sometimes I wonder what possessed me to be a librarian,” Anna says, “Sure there are some good points, but when days like this happen and we get swamped, ugh, I just want to quit.”

“I know the feeling.” Dean replies with a small smile.

“You’re here again?” A voice interrupts Dean and Anna’s conversation.

Dean looks over and sees a blonde woman looking stern and disapproving at him.

“Oh, hello there Rachel.” Dean smiles sarcastically. “You look stunning as always.”

“Mr. Winchester, I know you can’t help it, but please try to keep from interrupting our staff when they’re at work.” Rachel says, bypassing pleasantries. “I saw you making eyes with our intern Alfie just last week.”

“You may wanna cool it Rachel. Alfie was just asking advice about his college credits,” which is kind of a pointless thing to ask Dean since he never finished his Engineering program, but like hell he’s going to say that. “It was all harmless.”

“Oh, okay then, I guess you’ll continue being harmless and not distract Anna here from her job during our busy-hours.” Rachel says, slinging an arm over Anna’s shoulder with a sweet smile directed at Dean.

 _“Rache”_ Anna whispers in embarrassment, but Rachel pays her no mind.

Dean wants to sigh and roll his eyes, but out of prideful politeness he just returns Rachel’s smile.

“I wouldn’t dream of bothering you ladies during your work.”

“That’s sweet Mr. Winchester.” Rachel replies, and Anna does the eyeroll for Dean. “So if you would be so kind as to get on with your business transaction, that’ll be great.”

“Don’t be rude Rachel,” Anna scolds her workmate, then she smiles apologetically at Dean, “Sorry about her Dean, she’s stressed from all the work too.”

“Oh don’t be, I understand.” Dean says giving his magnanimous smile he often uses to disarm targets. “I’ll just get on with my business here, and maybe stop by some other time? After your time off?”

Rachel bristles at that and Anna smiles wider.

“Sure Dean, some other time.” Anna says, ducking out of Rachel’s arm. “So, are you going to check out some books?” she says in her professional-librarian voice.

“I’m actually here to return the books I borrowed for my brother last week.” Dean says, and watches as the smile falls from Anna’s face slightly.

“Oh, I see.” Anna quickly says, fixing up her smile.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asks out of reflex.

“Nothing.” Anna replies, “Let’s just scan them in and we’ll queue them up with the others to be shelved back.”

“You already have a ton of books waiting to be shelved back don’t you?” Dean guesses.

Rachel lets out a snort of air. “Of course we do, what else would a library be busy with?” she says, rolling her eyes. “We’re a bit backed up in circulation because a lot of books are being borrowed and returned at the same time, so we struggle to keep organizing them back.”

Anna just sighs sadly. “Since the start of this week, our book carts haven’t seen a clear shift.”

“I can put Sam’s books back on their shelves.” Dean finds his mouth saying before he could even think it.

Twin looks of surprise from the blonde and the redhead greets him.

“You don’t need to do that,” Anna says the same time as

“Do you even know how to do that?” Rachel asks.

“No. It’s fine, I want to.” Dean says to Anna, then turns to Rachel “and yes, I know how to read, I know the alphabet, and I know how to count. I can return books to their shelves. It’s not like this is my first time in a library.”

“But that’s our job,” Anna protests, “we can’t let you do our job for us.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to helping out. You still have a lot of job to do, and I’m not offering to take those.” Dean says “Look at it this way, if Sam didn’t have me check out the books, he would’ve read them in here and put them all back anyway.”

Anna still looks like she wants to protest, but Rachel already looks sold on the idea.

“Just let him Anna,” Rachel says. “He’s a big boy, he can make his own decisions.” She smirks at Dean.

“Aw Rachel, you flatterer you.” Dean says and bats his eyes at her.

“We’re trusting you with our books Mr. Winchester,” Rachel says.

“They’re in good hands ma’am.” Dean replies.

Anna sighs in defeat. “Okay fine. Bring them out and let’s get them scanned into the system. You can put them back yourself.”

Dean and Rachel smile at her in victory.

While Dean is busy getting the books from Sam’s backpack into the counter, Rachel looks to the other side of the counter and sees something that make her smile.

“You have this sorted, right?” Rachel asks Anna.

“Yeah, I have this, you go ahead.” Anna replies with an understanding smile.

“Thanks.” Rachel says and ducks out on them, still wearing that impossibly happy smile.

Dean can’t help but be curious. What could possibly make Rachel smile like that? In all the weeks he’d known her, she has been pure business attitude and cool smirks. Now she’s practically glowing and giving warm smiles… As soon as Dean places the last of the books on the counter, he turns to see what Rachel is being so weird over.

On the far-side of the counter, Rachel stands and listens as a man in a slightly rumpled suit talks to her in hushed tones. His head is turned so Dean can’t see his face, but he can see that the man’s tall, maybe as tall as Dean at most, and unlike most suit-wearing people Dean knew, he carried his clothes not haughtily, but almost comfortably. Yet there was this innate stiffness in him, but he manages to carry well even that.

The man finally turns his head and Dean sees his face. He blinks and suddenly he understands Rachel’s warm attitude towards this man. Even Dean would gladly smile at him all day if he’ll be talking to a face like that. The man had some stubble that look so good and artful to not be deliberate, but instead of making his face look absolutely rugged, it doesn’t. And those eyes of his… Dean can see how blue they are from over here. And that mouth that moved as he talked softly…

“That’s Castiel Servonn.” Anna says, startling Dean out of his musings. He turns and finds her smiling knowingly at him. “He’s a regular here. Rachel met him when she started working here.”

“Oh… Really?” Dean says, trying to sound nonchalant and failing spectacularly.

Anna laughs a little, starting to scan the books’ RFID tags with her scanner gun.

“Yeah,” she answers. “He comes here almost every other day to read. And he’s really involved with the library. You know, despite not being an employee here, he volunteers in our charity work. He joined us on a trip to the orphanage where we read books to the kids, and he also went with us on a hospital visit to donate books to people bored out of their minds in the free-ward.”

“That’s… nice of him.” Dean comments, unable to keep his eyes from flicking back to the man as he says something that makes Rachel nod in agreement.

“Oh yeah, he’s totally nice,” Anna says. “He donates books to us when he finds one not yet in our circulation, or if he knows we have short copies of that title. I hear he also volunteers in soup kitchens, animal shelters, and elderly homes. Rachel calls him a real-life angel.”

“Is all that for real?” Dean asks, a bit skeptical. “What, does he work as a ghost-CEO of some company and has a lot of time to kill because he has people to do his job for him?

“Oh Dean, ye of little faith in mankind.” Anna says with a roll of her eyes. “He isn’t a rich guy with too much time on his hands. Rachel said he works as a doctor’s secretary that only holds clinic hours four days a week, thus his free time. I doubt secretaries earn as much as CEOs, but they say he donates regularly.”

“A guy like him can’t be real.” Dean says. No one can be the full package of being beautiful inside and out.

“I sometimes call him unreal to get Rachel annoyed.” Anna laughs. “But I’ve seen him in action with my two eyes so I can’t deny it… He is kind to people. But he doesn’t talk much with us. Rachel keeps trying to form a connection with him, but even though he visits here every other day, he never talks much about anything else but the books and impersonal stuff.”

“Maybe Castiel’s a private guy?” Dean says, wondering in the back of his mind if calling him by a nickname would make him more amiable. Besides, ‘Castiel’ sounds like a mouthful.

“Yeah, maybe… But even when we’re on site on volunteer work, he’s super engrossed in it and doesn’t hang out with us after.” Anna says with a small frown. “I don’t know. I just sometimes find it…odd.”

“Don’t sweat it Anna, not everyone’s as easy to talk to as you.” Dean says, remembering that he’s been in the middle of trying to ask her out earlier.

“That’s nice of you to say.” Anna scans the last of the books and pushes the stack towards him. “And again, I’m sorry about Rachel. I keep telling her you’re just being nice and friendly.”

And there Dean has his answer. Shot down with a smile… But he concedes it, since he really shouldn’t have started checking out and talking about a pretty guy with the girl he’s been trying to hook-up with.

“Yeah, that’s okay, I kind of like bartering with her anyway. It’s refreshing.” Dean says with a smile, and he means it. Exchanging biting words with someone that can have you shot on sight is a bit tiring after a while. “Am I good to go with this?” he asks pointing to the stack of books.

“Yeah, you’re good.” Anna answers. “Thanks for doing this Dean.”

“Don’t mention it.” Dean says, grabbing four books and putting the rest in his backpack to sort through later. “It’s no big deal.”

With one last glance at the other side of the counter where Rachel is typing something in her computer and Castiel seems to be reading to her from a list on his hand, Dean turns and walks away to the reference section of the library to return the three Chinese-style cookbooks and one Chakra diagrams compilation Sam used to research for their Chang Lina job.

Dean is making great time with putting back the books. Half an hour later, Dean is down to his last three books and they all belong to the philosophy section.

Dean reads the labels on the shelves and walks down the hall. It seems the shelf he was looking for is in the end of the line. He walks briskly to the end and sure enough, the label on the shelf matches the ones on his last three books. Dean smirks and gives himself a mental pat on the back for finding the last shelf successfully without asking Anna, or heaven forbid, _Rachel,_ for help.

He runs his fingers along the spines of the books lined up on the shelf, searching for the ones his books belong next to. Dean finds the proper place for the first two easily enough, but he doesn’t see the last one’s place after scanning the whole shelf. He’s just about to turn around and restart scanning the books when he heard a thud of something solid hitting the ground from somewhere not far.

Dean, forgets about finding the proper place for his last book as he decides to investigate where the thudding sound came from. He walks past the last shelf of the near-empty philosophy section and rounds the corner.

He sees three small reading tables by the wall, effectively hidden by the large shelves from view if one is to look from the main hallway. Two of the three tables are empty. On the one that’s occupied sat a man, slumped forward and seemingly asleep.

There is a book open half-beneath his folded arms, and a lot of other books close by his elbow. On the ground, beside his feet lies another book. Dean guesses that must have been the source of the thud.

Dean walks closer with his feet barely making any sound on the library floor. Upon closer look, the man on the chair, slumped forward on the table seems to be familiar. As Dean bends down to pick up the dropped book, he sees Castiel’s face soft with sleep. His blue eyes are closed and his mouth holds a barely-there smile.

Maybe he’s dreaming.

Dean blinks at the man’s peaceful expression from his still crouched position of picking up the book. His brain starts working again, and Dean quickly stands and wills the shame away from staring at someone so up close. Nevermind that that someone’s not aware of the staring… Okay, that just seems worse.

On the chair beside Castiel, Dean sees a tan trench coat hanging on the back. After a quick internal debate, Dean places the books he’s holding on the reading table, grabs the trench coat and drapes it over Castiel’s wide shoulders. With his good-slash-creepy deed done, Dean resolves to leave now, and not bother this guy anymore…

Only, his feet don’t quite cooperate.

Dean stands there, watching this guy sleep, this guy whose name he knows but doesn’t know his, this guy who’s good-looking as hell and reportedly good-natured as fuck… Dean wonders what his thoughts are, what he really thinks, if he’s genuinely kind, what his dreams look like…

Well, he does have a way of knowing…and Sam did say they have to test out the new compact PASIV…

It could be like field practice. To prepare for their big job coming up. He really should polish up on his basics. And this is kind of like the basics. Having your target asleep before you administer somnacin and be unaware of the dream-sharing. It’s textbook really. And he’ll get to see if the new PASIV works as well as advertised. It’s not like he’s going to mess around this guy’s head anyway.

He’s just going to see if he the PASIV is working, and if he can go under with the target un-sedated. It’s just a quick peek inside someone’s subconscious and no interfering will happen. Maybe he’ll just pretend to be a projection and not make contact at all.

Dean wonders if he’ll stop making excuses sometime soon for what he’s planning to do.

“Screw it.” He mutters and digs around his jacket’s left inside-pocket for the device. He bypasses the colt and pulls out the PASIV.

The new PASIV is a lot smaller than the older model, it’s roughly the same size as a small tablet or iPad, and looks a lot like a conceivable gadget people will not look twice at. The somnacin vials are hidden safely inside the machine, and the controls and timers are improved from the older push buttons and LED segment display to a fingerprint-protected touchscreen. The IV lines are shorter of course, but who needs twelve feet of line anyway?

Dean quickly sets up. The small thin needle almost feels like nothing as he secures it on himself, he carefully does the same to Castiel’s left hand, aware that this person’s not drugged and if he shakes him too much, he’ll wake up and catch Dean in the act of sticking an IV line in him, and boy would that be an awkward first conversation.

He perseveres anyway, because he’s been made to do jobs with no sedative before too, since the clients wanted a clean drug-test in case the targets undergo one, and he pulled out of them without getting caught. He knows how to move around sleeping targets. The only slight difference this time is that Dean did not have to break in anywhere to gain access to the sleeping target.

The hardest part is securing the IV line, and Dean does that with no twitching or shuffling from his target’s part, he starts to breathe easier after that, partly because it means no going back now and partly because he didn’t get caught. Dean arranges the books on the table so they’ll cover the IV line from sight. In the off chance anyone comes over to these concealed tables, all they would see are two guys sleeping.

Dean chooses to sit on the table behind Castiel, since that would look less suspicious than two of them on the same table sleeping facing each other. Careful with the IV line on his arm, he sits down on the chair beside the one directly to Castiel’ back, so if he leans back, he can still see the man’s sleeping form breathing evenly.

Dean sets up the timer for twelve minutes and puts his earbuds on. The PASIV’s and somnacin are set up so the target’s dose ensures he’ll stay asleep a couple of minutes longer than him, which will hopefully make his escape later just as unknown and easy…

Dean sighs. He’s really doing this… When was the last time he did something on pure impulse that wasn’t concerned with keeping his head on or not? He actually can’t remember.

After one last look at his sleeping target behind him, Dean slides down a bit on his chair, leans back while making sure his own IV line was out of sight, spreads his feet over the opposite side a bit for balance, drops his chin down  his chest, pushes the button on the PASIV, closes his eyes, and dreams.

…

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Castiel wakes with silent gasp.

He blinks his eyes and waits for the blur to clear out of his vision. It seems he fell asleep reading again. The first thing he does is check if he caused damage to the book he was reading. He sighs a little in relief when he sees it’s not been badly smushed under his head or crossed arms…

Castiel straightens on the chair and fishes his phone out from his pants pocket to check the time. He still has about three hours before the library closes. He looks at the stack of books on the reading table and considers what he’ll do.

Well, seeing as the librarians seem to be having a busy week, Castiel opts not to pile on more work for them, so checking out the books isn’t really an option. That leaves him with the choice of spending two and a half hours here reading what he can, and using the remaining thirty minutes before closing time to re-shelf the books.

Out of habbit, Castiel takes stock of the books he has in waiting... That’s when he notices a book on his table he doesn’t remember picking out.

Castiel picks up the small volume with a squint. Where did this come from? He reads the unfamiliar title.

_Chinese Philosophers: The Sleeping Dragon’s Dreamers_

Cas feels something inside him stir restlessly.

He feels himself going still, and his mind keeps whirring but he can’t get any clear read of it himself.

His chair makes a scraping sound behind him as he shoots up from his seat and starts turning his head this way and that, twisting his body to and fro, his eyes searching every nook of the place they can see, desperately looking for something he doesn’t even know what.

Cas leans strongly to one side and feels something on his shoulders slip down and fall.

He looks down and sees his overcoat lying on the seat of his chair… He looks to the empty chair beside his, and then back to the overcoat in wonder. He’s sure he hung the coat over the other chair before he began reading earlier.

Cas raises a hand and drifts it over his shoulder. How did his coat get on him? He looks down to the book in his other hand and makes a new decision for the day.

He picks up his overcoat and shrugs it on. And then he turns back to his table and stacks up the books. He plans on putting them all back to their shelves and leaving the library early today… but not before he asks Rachel about the check out records of one of the books.

Fifteen minutes later, Cas leaves the library with a bittersweet song vaguely playing in his head and a barely there smile on his face…

And the name Dean Winchester written on a slip of paper in his coat pocket.

.

End Chapter 1

.

AN: In case it was confusing for anyone, the first two parts of the chapter are the dreams Dean and Cas shared after Dean found Cas asleep in the library. Sorry about any confusion, but I wanted to have the dreams early on. You’ll recognize the dreams by my use of past tense, while real life is narrated in present tense.

Disclaimer: the song used in this chapter is Metallica’s “Welcome Home”, you can listen to it [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WElvEZj0Ltw&feature=kp).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. All comments, complaints, and suggestions are welcome. :)


End file.
